The Ringmaster's Revenge

The Ringmaster's Revenge: Phase Eight

Phase Eight

Aviraz

The two emissaries, one from Dawn and the other from Noon, knelt before the throne of Twilight.  They were both girls, as were all the servants of Fate, and wearing the soft shape of a child on the verge of maturity.  With no lack of fear, the lighter skinned messenger met the prince’s eyes.  He was seated on the dais in his ivory throne which rose so high it merged with the arched ceiling, forming an intricately sculpted support pillar.  Lounging on a pile of cushions beside him was Covet and behind them, barely visible against the back wall of the Great Hall, were row upon row of faceless courtiers, minions, and noblemen. 

“This is your final warning, Prince Lycoris,” said the girl.  “Mistress Fate will not tolerate any more rebellion from Twilight.  She wishes to remind you that your position as ‘lord’ can be revoked at anytime.”

“I see.”  Lycoris scratched his cheek with a forefinger then sighed, “Interesting Device, that Fate, sending her loyal servants here.  Let me ask you, do you think Fate knew what fate awaited you here in the halls of Twilight?”

From his cushions, Covet laughed, watching the roiling mass of blackness take shape behind the girls. 

Having been raised in Erebtophet, a sphere dominated by his parents Chance and Chaos, who relished the ingenious of mason logic, Covet had seen a great deal of technology.  From the drawing boards of the stolen mason souls had come weapons of ingenious design, robots to plump the ranks of soldiery, and machines as faultless as the demonic hands which built them.  And Aviraz, he’d always thought, was more machine than man.  True the Shadowmynn was flesh and blood, he’d seen that blackish blood spill a thousand times, but the shade was also a meticulous destroyer.  As his skills had been honed to utmost efficiency, his personality had bled away leaving a predictable, somewhat boring, tool of slaughter.  Covet’s green eyes glowed with amusement and a little jealousy as the shade silently sailed over the marble floor with his black sword raised.  The little bitch from Dawn went first.  She died without any clue as to the danger she was in.  However, Noon was warned by the plop of her partner’s head against the stones and, in scrambling away from the decapitated corpse, managed to turn in time to watch Aviraz bring the weapon down again.  His face showed no remorse, nor even consideration, as the girl’s blood flicked from the blade to his face.  Blindly, he wiped his sword on the Dawn child’s dress, licked the red drops from around his mouth, and collected the heads.

The prince, whose attention had been solely on the men seated behind him, now turned to his slave.  Unlike Covet, Lycoris was inclined to believe the shade was more animal than anything.  And, as the quadrolope gives milk to the milk maiden or the ponapoke pulls a merchant’s wagon, the Shadowmynn was expected to perform his tasks silently, obediently, and without being asked.  Granted it had taken a lot of discipline to get Aviraz to the point of acting independently, for he was as willful a creature as a donkmule, but eventually he’d become the flawless hunter Lycoris needed.  In fact, Aviraz was so proficient in his duties that his presence often went overlooked.  So much so, that when the prince learned that spoilt meat had taken out most the Motteh Doo and prior engagements had limited the staff, he’d almost given up hope of sending an ambassador of his own back to Fate before he turned to his most reliable pawn.

“Aviraz.  Dump the bodies.  I’d have liked to save the heads as a gift for my mother but you can’t travel quickly with them.  Toss them to the hounds,” said the prince.  “Then I’d like you to deliver this to her.”

The shade bowed and took an envelope from his master before returning to the bodies where he grabbed the Noon child’s hands.  He dragged her across the hall to the corner from which he’d risen and nudged her into a hole in the floor.  The body rolled over the edge easily and began its decent to the fetid swamp behind the castle.  Fate’s second servant was disposed of in the same fashion.